Confined
by cadmiumred
Summary: When the other path is laid out so clearly in front of her, Beverly Crusher finds her resolve weakening. "But this isn't my universe," she firmly attempts to tell herself, even as he asks for a part of her heart.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Beverly Crusher had been confined in the brig for three days. While from time to time she wondered if she should be more anxious at her confinement, the truth was…she was simply bored out of her mind. If they had wanted her dead, they would have killed her upon capture. So they had to be waiting for something.

She _hated_ waiting. Nothing to read, no conversation, nothing to look at other than the walls, the bed, the lavatory. Nothing at all. No interaction with another being save the silent guards who brought her food three times a day. And that food was sustainable...but just barely. She was consuming every calorie they brought her, but her body could tell that she wasn't getting the right mix of nutrients to keep her healthy over a long period of time. She was permanently cold, even with her standard uniform.

She had been on the way to rendezvous with the medical fleet on the way to Delphos V. Along the way, her roundabout had been knocked off course and thrown into another universe through some sort of anomaly. As she righted her little shuttle, an unknown battle vessel came and captured her immediately, as if they had been waiting for ships to come through the anomaly. And these creatures (humanoid, not that different from humans upon a visual inspecting) were holding her in the brig. Thankfully there had been no violence, no bodily harm. But why? What were they waiting for? Was she a bargaining chip? Was she going to be sold or handed off to someone?

She sat on the edge of the hard bunk, stretching her back and trying to ignore the stiffness in her muscles and the acidic taste in her mouth from their water. Her mind drifted back to her universe - what she had left. Her last conversation with her ship's crew had been about setting up coverage while she was on loan to the medical fleet as they fought a plague in the Beta quadrant. The night before she left, she and Jean-Luc had talked via subspace message, she from the Pasteur and he from the new Enterprise. After several moments of watching him nervously fidget on the screen, she had asked him why he was so uneasy.

_"Jean-Luc, you haven't been yourself this entire conversation. Is something wrong?"_

_He took a deep breath, squared his jaw."Beverly, would you consider coming to the Enterprise?"_

_She blinked in surprise, at the unexpected question. But before she could answer, he continued. _

_"What I mean is to ask whether you'd consider coming to the Enterprise...so that we could be together."_

_Oh._ Oh! _And felt herself begin to blush. And smile. They had skirted around the issue in conversation for weeks, now. And here he was, asking outright._

_"Yes. After this mission, once I get back to the Pasteur, let's...just, yes. Yes. Let's try."_

Beverly rolled her shoulders, pushing away the memory. She needed more room to move around, and this hard bunk wasn't good for her muscles. But before she could stand up, she heard several sets of steps walking down the corridor towards her. She rose quickly, waiting to see who was coming. Anxious about the unknown, but as always putting on a neutral face.

And the commander who had assessed her upon capture with a long, lingering glance turned the corner into her line of sight…as did Jean-Luc Picard. Well, a Jean-Luc Picard, but his uniform was different - all black with the deep red as an accent, and his communicator insignia was sharper and more angled. He looked shocked for a moment when he saw her, but quickly regained his composure and ignored her to speak to the commander.

"She's one of ours; we'll take her," Picard stated blandly. And he handed the commander a padd. The commander scrolled through the data on the padd for a moment and a slight smile emerged on his face. Still reading, he nodded and tapped the panel on the wall beside the forcefield, lowering the barrier keeping her in the brig.

"Take her and get off of my ship, please," the commander replied. He sounded almost _cheerful_, still looking down at the padd, gesturing absentmindedly at the captain.

"Gladly. Come with me, Doctor." Picard gestured to the corridor and she obediently followed the captain, willing to hold her questions until they were safe and off of this damned vessel. He walked briskly, without looking back, as if she were simply an object he was retrieving and he fully expected her to follow him. The walk down the corridor was silent, and they were not bothered beyond a few curious glances from other crew in the corridors, but Crusher was sure that if the commander wanted to abort their departure…he could. She couldn't let her guard down until she was off this ship.

They walked into a transporter room and she followed him onto the platform, catching her breath. She had no idea where the hell they were going, but she sure as hell didn't want to stay on this ship.

In the back of her mind she noted that he was keeping her very much at arms length.

The pair materialized directly into another brig that looked like a standard Federation cell (_damn it! damn it all to hell, she was so tired of brigs_) but immediately Picard called for the forcefield to be lowered, then turned and stared at her fully for the first time, tension around his eyes. His jaw clenched, and she couldn't decipher his expression…fear or anger?

"Leave us." His voice was harsh and she flinched at his tone, her suppressed anxiety flooding back, but then realized he was talking to the security team standing outside of the brig. They scurried away quickly, and it was only when they were completely alone that he came and stood in front of her, inches away, and he was _furious_. Being trapped on an unknown ship, in a brig? That scared her. But facing the full force of Picard's anger when he was standing inches away from her face? She was terrified. Although that could be a delayed response to her capture and confinement.

His voice slid out in a threatening whisper. "You need to tell me who you are and why you are impersonating a Starfleet officer…and my dead wife." And she realized at that moment that his anger was covering for grief, for pain, for anguish, for heartbreak. She saw his eyes, and they were shimmering with tears.

She took a stuttering breath, held his haunted gaze, answered just as quietly. "I'm from another universe. I was accidentally thrown into this universe and promptly picked up by that ship. I've been in their cell for three days." She swallowed nervously.

He stared at her, flicked his gaze down and up her face, then drew in a quick breath, let it out slowly. "And your name?"

"Beverly Crusher."

He blinked in surprise. "Crusher? Is Jack…?"

"He's dead." The words slipped out, blunt and unchecked. Her filter was rapidly disintegrating.

Picard's eyes softened a bit. "It is the same in…well, here. Let's…get you to Sickbay. You need medical treatment. And a shower." The final statement was delivered with a wry smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly looked around the Sickbay, taking it all in. The layout and surroundings were nearly identical to her Sickbay on the Pasteur. A bit more green in the decor, some additional plants in the corners which added a nice, comfortable addition to the sleek lines, a few cabinets rearranged, but otherwise nothing truly out of what she would call ordinary.

The nurse who treated her was brisk but kind, glancing up at her when he thought she wasn't looking. As she gradually relaxed (she wasn't in the brig anymore, she was safe, no one was going to take her now) she looked up again, searching-

"The captain left as soon as we began treating you," the nurse said, answering the unasked question. "I think it may be hard for him to be around you." The nurse looked up with a small smile and met Beverly's searching gaze. Her mouth was dry, and should she ask for more information? Or-

"They were married for a long time, from what I understand, for many years before she was killed a year ago. I don't know what he was like before she was gone, but I'm sure he hasn't been the same since. He's a good captain, of course, but he is quite reserved. There-" The nurse patted Beverly's shoulder, "-you're good to go. Get some food and some rest and you'll be fine. How are you going to get back home to your universe?"

Beverly got down from the table and smoothed her wrinkled uniform, shook her head. "I have no idea."

* * *

Picard left Sickbay as soon as the nurse began treating Beverly. He held himself under tight control until he entered the lift. As the doors closed, his hands began to tremble and he clenched his fists, forced himself to breathe slowly. He quietly redirected the lift to his quarters, rather than the bridge. He needed another moment before facing the crew, meeting the senior staff, talking with that damned counselor who had taken such a deep interest in exploring his grief in their monthly sessions. Picard still couldn't bear to talk about Beverly in public, other than very general statements. But in private settings the counselor always wanted to drag out his treasured memories, lay them out and examine them, ask him how he felt, how much it hurt. The man was so intrusive. And now this woman was _on his ship_, and he didn't know what to do, because it was like staring into the eyes of his wife.

Picard was utterly grateful that he met no one on the walk from the lift to his quarters. He entered and stood in the middle of the darkened room and began to heave, dry sobs coming from his chest and invading the silence. The pain of her loss was hard, so hard. Seeing this woman ripped open his wounds all over again. And she had been so stoic as she saw him come around that corner, but he could tell - she was exhausted, and she needed to eat a good meal and sip a cup of coffee and sit and rest in a chair and look across the table and smile at him-

He looked up to see the photo frame on the shelf in the corner and his heart broke again.

How cruel. How cruel that this anomaly would bring to him a woman that was a perfect mirror of the love of his life.

* * *

Beverly left Sickbay and started down the corridor - and stopped. _I don't know where my quarters are on this ship. Oh hell._ And she realized just how exhausted she was. She needed food, a shower and sleep. _Just what the doctor ordered._

"Computer, where are my quarters?"

"Deck Eight."

She went to Deck Eight, followed the signage, and the doors opened for her - and she walked into the captain's quarters and saw him standing in the dark in the middle of the room, back to the door. _Oh god…the computer sent me to my...her old quarters._ He turned around then and she saw the tears on his face as his eyes widened in surprise.

She was horrified at her own intrusion, froze just inside the room, doors sliding shut behind her. "I'm…I'm so sorry, I'll leave-" and turned to go, not knowing where to go but knowing she couldn't stay there, her stomach clenching in horror at her invasion within his private space.

"No!" She flinched and froze, the strangled tone of his voice sending a chill down her back. "Don't leave, Beverly, _please_ don't leave-" he said in a hoarse whisper, and she slowly turned around to be confronted with his pleading expression. He tentatively held out a hand towards her. "You should stay here. You must be exhausted."

She paused, then replied. "I am," she reluctantly admitted. "And hungry." _Oh damn. That slipped out._

"Ah, please stay. Rest. I'm…on my way to the bridge. Get some rest and I'll be back soon with more information about how to get you home."

They stared at each other for a moment in the starlight, then she nodded. He walked past her, command persona back in place, and left his quarters, leaving her alone and confused.

Beverly was lightheaded now - the aftermath of no longer being trapped in a brig. She replicated a meal and forced herself to sit down at the table by the window as she ate gratefully. The stars streaked by and she wondered where they were headed but she was quite honestly too damn tired and dirty to care. Captivity was never fun.

She recycled her plate and looked around. His quarters looked familiar - like him. Same colors as on the previous Enterprise, books on the shelves, subdued art on the walls. And she saw on a shelf a frame, walked over, saw the picture. It was a wedding photo. She was smiling into the camera and his face was pressed against hers, glancing at the photographer. And they looked so happy. Content. Whole.

She blinked, tears coming to her eyes. _This is what could have been? We are fools, fools in my universe. Fools...we were too scared to try and so I went to the Pasteur and he went to the Enterprise and he asked and I said yes but now I'm here and can't reach him..._

She stumbled through her tears to where she guessed the bathroom was, stepped into the sonic shower, leaned against the wall, then changed the setting to hot water and felt her torn, wrinkled uniform become saturated. She stripped it off right there in the shower, hearing the fabric make a wet smack at her feet, tilted her face up into the spray and wept. Told herself that her tears were a delayed response to her fear, her confinement on that ship but she knew, deep down she knew that she was weeping at lost time with her Jean-Luc. At what could have been.

Finally, she found herself fighting the urge to slide down the wall and curl up on the floor under the hot spray. She turned off the water, grabbed the closest towel (_it smells like him_), wrapped it around herself, and stumbled into the bedroom.

She found his bed, curled up and was asleep instantly.


	3. Chapter 3

He entered his quarters, then wondered if he should have sounded the chime to alert her, because he had asked the computer to alert him if she left (she wasn't required to stay in there, he just didn't know how the rest of the crew would react if she was meeting them throughout the ship, because some of them had been on the previous Enterprise, and of course everyone would know upon seeing her that she was an alternate of his dead wife), but it was already too late, he was standing inside the front room, looking around. He frowned. There was no evidence of another person having been in his quarters. Went into his bedroom - and stopped at the sight of her curled up in his bed, under the covers. His breath caught. She looked exhausted. Dark blue smudges under her eyes and she was frowning in her sleep.

He swallowed. She looked different than his Beverly. But still close enough that his heart ached. And he gave in and silently sat down in the chair in the corner and watched her sleep, folding the images away in his mind to treasure later.

* * *

She woke up and instantly thought of the brig - but the bed was entirely too soft, the sounds all wrong. She sat up, pulled the sheet to her chest - and saw Jean-Luc sitting in the corner, watching her.

"Good morning." His smile was soft, welcoming as he sat there.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes, saw his cautious body language, his stillness in the chair. "It's morning?"

He nodded. "You slept through the night. You needed it."

"Ah." She pulled the covers to her chin and realized that she probably looked a bit foolish and realized that this was a different kind of vulnerability than what she had felt while waiting for hours and hours in the brig. "Ah, Jean-Luc...I need to get up."

He stared at her face for a moment in confusion, then glanced at her bare shoulders, looked down and took in the towel on the floor beside the bed and his eyebrows lifted. He stood suddenly, tugging down the front of his uniform nervously. "I'll, ah, just be outside. I'll make you some coffee? Look in the bottom drawer for something to wear."

She nodded her thanks and watched as he left the bedroom, wondering what he was thinking about as he exited so quickly.

* * *

She padded out of the bedroom a couple of minutes later, wearing a soft set of cottony lavender pants and matching tunic she had found in the bottom drawer of the dresser, deliberately pushing away the thought that he kept his late wife's clothing in the dresser. He was sitting at a table set with croissants and coffee, and a bowl of fruit was in the center. She took the chair opposite him and he poured coffee into her empty mug, and she cupped the steaming brew between her hands and breathed in the rich aroma.

"My wife always enjoyed that blend." His voice was quiet from across the table as he started adding food to his plate, and he didn't look up at her. She sipped and closed her eyes in contentment. It had been days since she had had any coffee.

"She had good taste in coffee," she confirmed. Her heart fluttered in her throat. _There's something...different about this Jean-Luc. Even his voice feels more intimate..._

* * *

Picard knew that this wasn't his wife sitting across from him. And yet...she was so much like his Beverly that it awoke his heart. He chanced a glance up from his plate to see her staring at him with an open, unassuming look on her face. She was studying him, too.

He cleared his throat, breaking the gaze, and looked down at the table, slid his padd towards her. "We should be back within range of the anomaly within two days and we'll send you home. You can stay in my quarters for as long as you like."

* * *

Picard left after breakfast with a sad smile and a promise to return after his shift. _He seemed...reluctant to leave_, she thought. She got up and peered out the window, at the stars streaking by.

She looked around at the nondescript living area, stood there in the middle of the room and sighed. She simply had to trust that the Pasteur was safe and sound, and that she was missing from the ship - not that the ship was missing, or in danger. Her crew was a good crew; they could take care of themselves.

She wandered over to the terminal, sat down. She had time to kill, and she didn't want to go back to Sickbay; the nurses and doctors kept glancing at her when she was there initially, then turning away quickly. And she was exhausted - it was good to have some privacy, to sort through what had happened to her.

With a hesitancy that surprised her, she accessed the computer's database and pulled up her counterpart. Beverly Crusher was Beverly _Picard_ in this universe - and she had been killed nearly a year ago. The destruction of the previous Enterprise had been tragic. Close to half of the crew had been killed.

The biographical entry included a selection of images curated from public sources. Beverly expanded the entry - and froze. A wedding picture with younger versions of themselves, an image of the two of them in uniform at Medical as she was accepting some award, him holding a red haired child on his hip...

A daughter. That had been an older image - Evangeline Picard was grown now, currently at the Academy, studying astrophysics and biology.

Another image of the three of them on the Enterprise, dated a little over three years ago...

The three of them had been a _family_.

And in every single image, they looked _happy_. Evangeline had a brilliant smile that reminded her of Jean-Luc in his relaxed moments. Jean-Luc had a softness in his expressions - every photo showed him looking at his daughter or his wife.

And she….her counterpart looked so damn happy. Peaceful. Content.

Beverly leaned back, rubbed her face with her hands, gazed out the window at the slowly spinning planet below.

* * *

She was just sitting down with a small meal, priding herself on being so patient as she waited to go home, when the door chimed. She went to the door, opened it and he was standing on the other side, looking slightly ill at ease.

"There are your quarters, Jean-Luc. You don't have to announce your arrival!" He stepped inside hesitantly, not quite looking at her. "I'm getting ready to eat. Can I make you something?"

He blinked, seemingly surprised at her offer. After a moment, he nodded. She replicated him the same soup and bread she was eating, gestured at the other chair at the table and sat down across from him. He stared down at the meal, then looked up at her.

"I'm…my apologies. Just…a lot of memories are rising to the surface."

She nodded, nervous again. "Call me Beverly - unless that's uncomfortable?"

He smiled sadly, shook his head. "I'd be happy to call you Beverly."

They stared at each other. Finally, she began eating.

He relaxed a bit. "Thank you. The counselor told me that I should come and see you, confirm for myself that you are not, in fact, my dead wife. This may be the only time I willingly take his advice." She noted the irritation in his voice concerning the counselor. _Interesting_.

He continued to look at her with that steady, intimidating gaze, then finally looked down and began to eat. "I know you're not my Beverly. But I can't help but want to be around you, look at you, be with you. And...I need to tell Evangeline about you. Would you like to have dinner later tonight?"

She looked at him, saw how nervous he was, how…haunted his eyes were. "I'd like that," she quietly replied.


	4. Chapter 4

He had eaten silently across the table and the silence was comfortable, but he kept…looking at her. _Really_ looking at her. It unnerved her - and intrigued her. And she finally explicitly admitted to herself that she was going to spend these next few hours or days together as if there were no barriers. It would probably (most likely) hurt much, much more when she left.

But she had been so damn cautious all of her years beside her Jean-Luc and _this_ Jean-Luc was looking at her like he owned her. _God, it was so good. So good. _She hadn't realized that this was what she had been longing for all of those years...

"Tell me about Evangeline?" she asked, breaking the silence, because she really did want to know. She had seen the pictures of the young woman, a woman who looked like a perfect blend of the two of them. And she watched as his face softened. He smiled. And began to describe his daughter.

Eventually they were sitting over empty plates, laughing. It was...comfortable. Good. No, more than good. _Intimate_. It was like she was with her Jean-Luc, but..closer, if that was possible. Deeper, even more comfortable. It brought back memories of the daily breakfast conversations they had shared, but the barriers were down. He was being so open and she liked it. A lot.

Suddenly, she yawned. The day was catching up with her.

"Time for you to go back to bed," he laughed. She grinned at the familiar tone in his voice. "You look tired," he continued, and she caught her breath at the affection within his blunt statement. His words had run off of his tongue and she knew - she _knew_ \- he had told his wife that time and time again when she had pushed herself to the limit and needed to rest.

"And I should go back to the bridge," he said wistfully, looking across the table at her with an odd, longing expression, until he shuttered his features and stood, tugging down the front of his uniform. "Go get some rest. Will you be here-" he cut himself off, looked out the window, then turned his full attention to her again as she sat at the table. "Will you be here when I return? And we can continue...our conversation?"

_He wants me to stay here, in his quarters._ An odd flutter in her stomach, and she stood, nodding. "Enjoy the bridge," she said quietly and he shrugged in response, such a small gesture but it was so private, and his barriers were down for her.

"Nothing exciting up there. Simply biding time as we outfit the shuttle for you and return to the anomaly. You know, when I'm on the bridge, I still find myself looking for Data, Will, Deanna….They are still alive, in your…?"

She nodded, following his abrupt transition. "Will and Deanna are married and together on a ship, Data has his own command, and Geordi is my chief engineer on the Pasteur."

He smiled sadly. "Good, good. They were lost entirely too soon. You look beautiful in lavender, Beverly."

She froze in the act of reaching back down for her mug, found herself blushing at the unexpected compliment, the look on his face. "I'm not her-" it defensively slipped out, even as she felt a warmth at his words.

"I know, Beverly. I know. But you are very much like her. How could I not find you beautiful?"

She swallowed, not entirely comfortable with the scrutiny, the assessment…but enjoying it. He looked back at the portal again, at the stars.

"I should go, get to the bridge." He stood. "I will see you soon." It was a statement, not a question.

* * *

She cleared the table after he had left nearly abruptly, pondering his words. The door chime sounded and instinctively knew it wasn't Jean-Luc coming back. "Who is it?" she called out.

"It's Counselor Rivas. May I enter?" _Interesting. I've been curious about him. _

"Yes, come in. I'll be right there." She went into the guest bedroom and cleaned up and looked at her reflection over the sink. Basically she looked the same, other than the darker circles under her eyes. Vaguely she wished that the counselor was Deanna, and a pang of homesickness slid through her. This universe was not her home, and she didn't really know anyone other than Jean-Luc, and this Jean-Luc wasn't her Jean-Luc...

Shaking her head, she left the bedroom and the counselor was standing in the middle of the living area, in uniform, and he seemed surprised to see her? "Ah, I expected-" and he vaguely gestured towards the main bedroom door, which was closed._ He had expected me to come out of Jean-Luc's bedroom? _Her shock must have been evident on her face, because he cleared his throat. "I'm Counselor Rivas," he repeated and seemed a bit off kilter, "and I came to see how you were doing."

She sat down on the couch without a word, and didn't offer him anything to drink. If this counselor thought that there was more intimacy than was truly present, she wasn't going to give him a bit of data to support his observation. A wave of protectiveness slid through her at the idea of this counselor prying into this Jean-Luc's private life.

She didn't like the man standing in front of her.

After a short, awkward pause, Rivas sat too, watching her carefully, then leaned back into the cushions and instantly she felt a slide of distaste. Something odd about him...and she wondered if he had deliberately shown up when she would be alone.

"How are you feeling?" His words were a touch impatient, and she realized that she had been silent, but this man was oddly urgent. Very odd. And off-putting, especially for a counselor.

"Honestly? I'm still getting used to having my freedom again, to some degree at least-"

"What do you mean? Is Picard keeping you here?" His straightened spine and sharp tone made her crook an eyebrow. That wasn't what she meant at all.

"No, of course not! I just...I've ended up staying here, and it's fine." She waved her hand vaguely, as if she was referring to the accommodations, not the primary resident, attempting to redirect the counselor's attention away from her relationship _(no, there is no relationship, Beverly, why are you acting as though there is something to hide?_) He was watching her carefully but he seemed to accept her implication at face value.

"Mmm. And how is the captain?" Immediately her guard went up at his seemingly simple question. She wouldn't have divulged information about her Jean-Luc, and something told her to follow the same rule here. He was _(they were)_ private men.

"He has been very helpful." Full stop. Nothing else to say.

The counselor nodded, waited for more. Which she did not offer. He leaned back again. "How is he reacting to your presence?" He gestured at her, and his seemingly offhand movement seemed to encompass her physical appearance? _Oh my, this was too much, too...no. Just, no. _

"The captain has been very accommodating." She met his gaze with her blandest expression and waited for him to continue.

"And you are well? Managing the stress of this transition?"

"Well enough. I'm weary, though. It's good to be safe, and the captain said that I'll be back in my universe in a day or two." She deliberately used his title.

Seemingly satisfied, the counselor nodded, his attention shifting elsewhere. He was finished with her. Standing, he nodded at her. "Contact me if you need anything." And he left without a goodbye, leaving Beverly confused and a bit unsettled. She did not like that man.


	5. Chapter 5

Picard walked slowly down the corridor, heading to the bridge. He knew about the inevitable questions from the crew, the rumors that had to be circulating already: there was a _woman_ on the ship, staying in _his_ quarters, and the woman was a _Beverly_. Not Beverly Picard, but she was most certainly a Beverly. And that the captain had reversed course, turning around (well, around being relative since they were in three dimensional space) to take her back to an anomaly that would send her home, but on impulse speed, of course, not at warp, because they did not want to encounter another anomaly, not because he was delaying her departure...

She had made him a meal. And she was a Beverly. Not his Beverly, but a Beverly whom he could not help but love, and when he saw how tired she was, that tension in her posture as she carried herself, the flashes of her eyes as she let her guard down -

He was on the bridge. Eyes flicked up from terminals as he entered, then quickly looked back down, pretending they weren't assessing their captain. He knew that he was quieter than usual as he took the center seat and resumed command. And yet the crew continued their work around him, the ambient noise of the ship and the chirps from the terminals just as familiar as usual.

Skimming the reports on the chair's viewer, his mind slid back to the woman in his quarters. She wasn't _his_ Beverly, his wife, but he...how could he not love her? And she wasn't partnered, or she would have said something to him almost immediately. So as he sat in the command chair and tapped on his personal viewer, he pulled up an encrypted set of files before he would allow himself to name all of the reasons why he was about to make an impulsive, indulgent decision.

* * *

Alone again, her fatigue returned, but she was restless. Being confined was not something she enjoyed, but she didn't want to leave his quarters. She told him she would stay here and he had implied that he wanted to see her again, and so here she was. Going back to the monitor, she skimmed several medical journals, caught up on the latest research, noticed a hole in the research in her specialization and mulled over whether she should add a note or two about her contributions in her own universe. But concentration did not come easily.

Finally, she sighed and gave in to the impulse to do what she really wanted to do. She wondered if it was a bad idea…but even so, she again pulled up Beverly Picard's public record. As she scrolled through the woman's history again, a notification chime sounded.

Sliding to the top of the record, there was a notice, for her eyes only. Jean-Luc had just given her access to Beverly Picard's personal logs. He had flagged the public record (_he must have known that I would read them_) so that she and she alone could see the access route to his wife's personal logs and private files (_is this an intrusion on her privacy?_) but the flag was _right there_, and it was very obvious, and he had marked the flag so that she could see the invitation came directly from him, just seconds ago. Beverly blinked in surprise.

She spent the next hours pouring through everything.

* * *

When he entered his quarters, she looked up from the terminal, belatedly realizing how stiff she was from sitting so long. She had just a couple of years of logs left until her…death...and there had been so much to consume, photos and vids and journals and collected letters and artwork and creations from Evangeline...

He walked in and stopped beside the desk. "Is there...am I in your universe?" he asked without ceremony, without greeting.

"Yes." She didn't elaborate. After spending the day reading about a joyful, fulfilling partnership, she didn't know what else to say about her own life choices, which seemed very...lonely.

"You are not with him." It was a statement, not a question, and it was cautious but harsh. She looked back down, eyes on the terminal, shook her head.

"Beverly, you realize that he cannot help but love you." She remained silent, still looking down at the terminal, avoiding his gaze. _After Kes Prytt, I avoided his interest. Then I took the Pasteur, he took the Enterprise, and we haven't spoken in a year..._

"All you have to do is go to him. My wife and I...we were happy. Content. And being in the same room as _you_ makes me want to-" and he stopped abruptly. The silence was deafening and yet she couldn't move, wanting to know what he was about to say, but then also warring with the queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach - she was flirting with disaster, reading those logs, opening her heart, letting herself dream about possibilities-

"Have you eaten?"

She looked up then, noting his abrupt transition and the strain in his voice, realizing he had given her (and quite possibly himself) an out for the moment. When she shook her head no, he stepped back and looked out the window.

"I'll make something for the two of us, if you'd like to take a break from your reading."

* * *

After escaping to the bedroom (_that's what it was, an escape, admit it_), she shook out her tension. Did he...? Did he just…tell her that she should be with him? Er, her own Jean-Luc?

After having spent hours immersed in the woman's logs, it was almost difficult to separate her own personal memories from what she viewed, read, looked at. Missions on the Enterprise coincided with her own experiences, but overlaid on the missions were these new pseudo-memories of life experiences with Jean-Luc, with Evangeline...

Beverly Picard loved her husband. They had been so happy together.

Beverly Crusher wondered if she had been a fool, had wasted all of those years, wondered whether it would have been the same for her.

* * *

She saw that he was perfectly composed as she left her room and joined him at the table. As he gathered dishes from the replicator, he began to speak. "We're returning to the site of the anomaly, and I believe that we'll be able to send you back on your way - into your home universe - by tomorrow afternoon. So you'll be home by dinner. We'll send you in a shuttle, so you aren't stranded."

"Thank you, Jean-Luc." He smiled, sat across from her and they began to eat. She tried to take a bite, then put down her fork and he glanced up curiously. Taking a deep breath: "Counselor Rivas stopped by to talk to me."

He blinked, and a sweep of annoyance moved across his face. She continued: "He was inquiring about my well-being, and about you. I didn't share much."

He nodded, a flash of relief sliding across his face. "Thank you. Earlier, when I left, I felt as if I wanted to avoid you - too much pain in the memory of my wife. But...I enjoy your company, and I hope I've been a pleasant companion for you."


	6. Chapter 6

"A pleasant companion? Jean-Luc, you've been nothing but a gentleman, even when you found me asleep in your bed-" and she cut herself off, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. She didn't know how to interpret the reactions this man pulled from her, and she was completely unable to filter herself. He was so polite, so reserved, so careful, but he wasn't cautious - he seemed to be holding himself back with a sense of propriety, but there was something flickering underneath the reserved surface, and it was so familiar to her, and his presence was drawing out her impulsive words, but she wanted to connect with him, be with this man -

He smiled across the table at her, and his shoulders relaxed, and his face was transformed into an open, laughing expression, making her want to reach across the table towards him. She actually clenched her fist to quell her impluse, and the slightest arch of his brow made her wonder if he had read her so completely, was aware of what was moving through her mind.

"No need to apologize, Beverly. I'm glad you found it comfortable enough to sleep in my bed." As the slightest hint of a mischievous grin slid across his face, she realized that he had let his guard down, was comfortable around her. He sat there with a smile, toying with the stem of his wineglass, just watching her as if he had all the time in the world. Looking down, she began to eat, still feeling his gaze and feeling a sense of warmth move through her at the smile she knew was still on his face.

"I am enjoying your companionship," she stated quietly from across the table, looked up and met his eyes as she reached out and took a sip of her wine-

A throaty sound emerged from her throat at the first sip of wine, and the sound was so primal it nearly embarrassed her, but this wine - she closed her eyes in pleasure. "Oh, Jean-Luc, this wine is good. This is very good." It was robust and thick, like the sweet, tangy skin of a cherry, just how she preferred her red -

"I knew you'd like it." Her eyes snapped open at his comfortably satisfied tone. He was still toying with the stem of his wine glass, watching her with his full attention, and it caused a slice of tense heat to slide through her stomach. _The man probably knows me as well as anyone in my universe, and he is probably very good with his hands, considering the way he's handling that glass_ \- she cut off _that_ thought before it could get started. _Your boundaries are getting blurry, Beverly_. She sipped again and the deep, full-bodied cherry-chocolate flavor burst within her mouth. _And you're not his dead wife,_ she reminded herself, blinking slowly, still watching him as he observed her with such scrutiny.

He leaned forward slightly, still with that slight smile on his face. "Did I ever tell you about the time Q found Evangeline after my wife and I lost her somewhere on the Enterprise?" She arched a brow. _Oh, it's story time._

* * *

A delicious meal and two glasses of wine later, she was on the couch beside him, leaning back and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes as he wrapped up the narrative. "So as you can see, we found her at the same time Q found her, and it was only because Q had acquired a begrudging fondness for my wife- not for me! - that he gave us back our daughter."

She stared across the room, smiling, finally relaxed, thankful that she had given herself permission to just…be. With him, for the meal, for the evening. This was most certainly not her Jean-Luc, and that was all right - it was better, even, because this man had no qualms about revealing himself to her, and it was good. The silence was so comfortable, and the nearly empty glass resting on her leg gave her something to hold onto as she rested quietly beside this man.

Beside her, he cleared his throat softly. "Tell me about your home," he requested cautiously, so different than his narrative voice. And after a deep and cleansing sigh, she started to tell him about the Pasteur, about friends, about crew. He was silent as she talked, and inevitably she found herself sharing about the last subspace conversation she had with her Jean-Luc, but trailed off before she talked about the exact content of their previous discussion.

"Beverly, may I ask what the two of you spoke of?" Back to his cautious tone of voice, and she was glad that they were sitting beside each other so that she wouldn't have to look at him. Her stomach fluttered in anxiety.

"We talked about our…relationship? Is that what I should call it? But I'm afraid. We're both afraid. And we're fools. We've wasted so much time, Jean-Luc, and I see the pictures of you and your wife here in your quarters and I sit here tonight and realize that I've been a fool for all of these years. A timid fool-" She cut herself off, tears threatening behind her eyes, throat closed with emotion, loss. Looking down at the glass resting on her thigh. And he was silent beside her.

She swallowed her grief, tried to steady her emotions, so strong within her, leaned her head back again against the couch. "You miss your wife," she quietly said. She felt him nod, saw the movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Every day."

* * *

He was laid bare. This woman, this woman was not his dead wife, but he could not help but love her - because she was who she was. Turning slightly to look at her - the red strands of her hair were tumbling down her shoulder and she rested her head back against the couch, the gold-green fabric a contrast beside her hair and her skin. She was pressing her lips together, gathering her words, and when they came out they were hesitant, like she had never uttered them aloud before in quite that configuration:

"I want to try. Try to...well, _try_. And I..I love him. But I'm afraid." Then she turned her head slightly and met his gaze, and a jolt went through him - her fear was wrapped up in a hunger, a want, but she was afraid. It was all over her face. So he reached over and gently pressed his palm against her face. She sighed and leaned into him, possibly not even aware of her involuntary reaction.

"What if I ruin everything, Jean-Luc? What if I lose him? We've stayed at arms' length for so many years-" Her raw admission was like a stab in his chest and he slid his thumb against her face, beside her mouth.

"I think that you'll be just fine. He's loved you as long as he has known you." He held her gaze, then got up from the couch, reaching for her hand and pulling her up with him. _I'm a foolish man...but I can't resist_.


	7. Chapter 7

"What are you doing?" she breathed, but she followed his lead as he pulled her up to a standing position, taking her glass from her hand and placing it on the low table. And he took her in his arms and began to dance to some silent music in his head. Immediately she fell in and captured his rhythm, but she was disoriented - the wine, the closeness, and the solidified knowledge that this man was not her Jean-Luc, but they still fit together very well, and she as attracted to this man, possibly because there wasn't the danger? He was temporary, and yet so well known to her...

An occasional hum in her ear as he guided her through the living space, palm against her back and hand holding hers, swaying slightly. He was content, happy - it was all over his face. And she gradually relaxed into this man's arms, this man whose scent was familiar, and his hand was firm against the small of her back.

"You are not my wife," he murmured, more of a statement than a question.

"You are not my Jean-Luc," she replied just as quietly, eyes closed. "But we are here, in this moment, together." She leaned forward, placing her cheek against his. And they danced together in the starlight for several moments.

* * *

He found himself breathing in her scent. A flood of memories were coming back, especially with the feel of her body against his. But it was different, somehow. Not the same as it had been with his Beverly. Finally, reluctantly, he pulled away and held her at arm's length, looking into her eyes. "I'm sorry - I should stop this, but I don't want to." He looked at her face - so like his Beverly's, but it wasn't his wife. As he had listened to her when they sat, it was like peeling away layers of grief. This was not his wife, but he did not want her to leave...

"No. Let me stay. Please. I want to." And she cupped his face with her hands and pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth for a moment. Not quite a kiss, but certainly more than a friendly gesture between friends. Their bodies were pressed against each other. He turned his head and kissed her, then, and he could feel the warmth of her palm as she cupped the back of his neck. Her mouth was tentative, cautious, and memories came soaring back. Years of lovemaking, for pleasure, for comfort, for love... His arms went around her, holding her, keeping himself from taking control, but it was so hard-

"I'm not her," she murmured against his mouth, keeping her eyes shut, then pulled back slightly.

"I know. But I love you still." And he began pressing soft kisses down her jawline, onto her neck. _I'm a selfish bastard_, he thought as he kissed his way down her throat, under her ear, dipped his tongue into the hollow there, making her gasp softly. _But I want her anyway_. He kissed the spot under her ear, feeling her shoulders tense, using his memories of his wife to awaken her body. She sighed and held his head, grasped his shoulder, sighed again and he pulled back, looked into her eyes.

* * *

She sighed and closed her eyes as he nuzzled underneath her ear. She was responding to him involuntarily - this man _knew_ what her body preferred. When he pulled back and looked at her, she leaned in and kissed him again. His response was hesitant, but he softened, and she pushed her mind down, refusing to think, instead letting herself drown in the sensation. This man's mouth was familiar, even though it...wasn't. She was surrounded by his scent, and that was the same, though.

She let herself _feel_ as the churning spark of attraction roared into a fantastic, all-consuming flame, but then he pulled back slightly - "I won't use you," he muttered, and it was almost an angry groan, and immediately she snapped back into the present reality (_What am I doing? This will only end in heartbreak_), her mind spinning, and she slid her hand against his chest (_to calm him? or to steady herself?_) and she felt the pounding of his heart against her palm.

A _biological_ heart. Not an artificial heart. "Your heart is racing," she said wonderingly, searching his gaze.

He tried to speak, looking so confused it was endearing, but he obviously had no idea what she was speaking of.

"My Jean-Luc has an artificial heart," she whispered. "and you are not my Jean-Luc, are you." It was a statement, not a question. She slowly stepped back from his body, clearing her head, but she kept her hand against his chest for another few seconds. _This is not my Jean-Luc. I should wait._ Dropping her hand, she sighed.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I overstepped, and I apologize."

She bit her lip, then nodded. "I shouldn't have-"

"Do not think of it again," he interrupted, and he stepped forward and took her hand, pressed a kiss against her palm, and the sweetness in the gallant gesture unexpectedly made her tear up. "I believe that your shuttle should be ready," he stated clearly, firmly, and she knew that he had locked up his heart once again.

* * *

They walked silently to the shuttle bay, and she wondered how many hours her shuttle had been ready, but she didn't want to ask him.

She didn't want to know.

The shuttle bay was full of crew who straightened to attention when the pair entered, and she felt more than saw Picard stiffen slightly beside her, and she saw the counselor cross the room with a purposeful stride.

"We've been waiting-" he called out, shrewd eyes assessing she and Picard.

"I'm ready." Her voice rang clearly through the shuttle bay, and the counselor raised brows in surprise, but she turned to Picard before she could be interrupted by the difficult man approaching.

"Captain, thank you for the hospitality and the conversation." She hoped that he could see the genuine care (and attraction) that was under the formality, but there were too many keenly observant gazes for her to let down her barriers. Or to admit to herself that a substantial part of her did not want to leave this man's ship. Or his presence.

"Doctor." He swallowed, began again, meeting her eyes. "Beverly. Thank you, and safe passage until you get…home." His blink, the slow blink, the soft but sad glimmer of a smile - his heartbreak was old, but it was there, and it made a lump form in her throat, but on an impulse, she raised her hand in a jaunty little salute.

"Yes, sir. Thank you. For everything." And she pivoted and entered the shuttle, slid into the pilot's seat, and pressed the display and the door shut swiftly, cutting off the crew. And Jean-Luc.

_No time for crying now. First I need to get home. And then…_


	8. Chapter 8

She was nearly four hours late.

_Well, no._ Picard corrected himself silently. The anomaly should have shifted and discharged a shuttle four hours ago. A shuttle that contained Beverly Crusher.

There wasn't anything wrong with the anomaly - it was just that nothing had passed through it within the last four hours. And so Jean-Luc Picard attempted to patiently wait for something - anything - to happen.

He rubbed his face, sighed, looked at the unchanging display once again, lamenting the lost time, the weeks that had passed since their conversation. He had tried to contact her, tell her that he wanted to be with her sooner rather than later, explore whether that would be a possibility. But there had been no response from the Pasteur, and then he found out that she was no longer on board the Pasteur, sent on a small little mission, and she had disappeared.

Beverly had disappeared. Digging deeper, he determined that her mission had been guided by Section 31, which left a foul taste in his mouth. And that if she returned safely, they wanted to send her on another information gathering mission. Alone.

He would have none of that. So he left the Enterprise in the very capable hands of the first officer and sped over to this starbase that time had forgotten, and he was waiting for Beverly Crusher.

But this time, once he found her, he was never going to leave her side again.

* * *

Embarrassment. That's what she felt. It took her some time to pinpoint the hot, tense rock that resided in the middle of her chest. Embarrassment at letting herself become so vulnerable, for leaving her ship alone (even though her first officer needed the experience, and was fully capable), for letting herself become caught up in a universe and with a man that she had no rights to. And she hated it. There was no reason to feel embarrased (Deanna had always been adamant about that when she ended a relationship - a personal and romantic relationship was _never_ a reason to feel embarrassment) but she felt mortified - perhaps it was all just a bad dream, meeting that other Jean-Luc, hearing about Evangeline, his dead wife, dancing in his quarters to silent music, a few stolen kisses that heated her up even now -

She shook her head, focused yet again on the panel as she headed towards the anomaly.

It didn't matter. There was no need to tell anyone (her Jean-Luc) about this. It had been a moment of weakness, a normal response to her forcible capture and confinement. And she would go back home, and talk with him, and they would be polite and gracious to one another, and take soft, careful steps, and explore their future. Because that's how she and her Jean-Luc fit together best - dancing around truths, always careful to not upset the balances they maintained.

They would not (most certainly not) fall into bed together at the first opportunity, because that would be foolish, and reckless, and it would only end in heartbreak. She would not lean in and kiss the side of his mouth, press her cheek against his, breathe in the scent of his skin and let her hands examine his body in a decidedly non-clinical way, allow delicious shivers to take residence in her abdomen as he used those fingers on her skin.

She would not tell him that the few short days she spent in the other universe made her realize that she didn't want to spend another day away from him.

Better to take it slow, and to simply add another layer to their already overly complex friendship, and then retreat to their respective vessels before any more damage occurred.

The anomaly appeared in the view screen as a vibrant rip in space, with a deep, pulsating darkness within. She took a deep breath, then went to warp as instructed -

* * *

There she was. Picard saw the shuttle emerge out of the anomaly as a blinking symbol on the display, seconds after about five different notification chimes sounded. One life form aboard - human.

She was home. And he wasn't going to let her go again. He looked up from the display to see the two Section 31 personnel beside him. It was time.

He was willing to give himself up to the Section 31 mission if it meant that he could be by her side, even if only for a few days.

* * *

The shuttle had taken her through the anomaly and back home into her universe, and there was an urgent message pending; she was _not_ to go back to the Pasteur, but to that good-as-abandoned starbase where the Pasteur had had its commissioning, so she flew, all alone, for three hours, and had immersed herself in the message, trying to understand where these orders were coming from, very carefully not thinking about _him_. She _hated_ feeling shameful. But then the starbase was looming on the viewer, and the tractor beam pulled her shuttle in. As she opened the hatch, she vaguely wondered whether she should be in uniform (_too late now_) and then two admirals (_admirals? on_ this _godforsaken star base?_) were ushering (pushing) her into corridors, and down into the depths of the station's structure, and offering no conversation whatsoever until she stopped in the middle of a seemingly endless hallway in defiance and frustration.

Also, she was hungry. She had been too anxious to eat, and was now regretting it.

No, no more. "Where are you taking me? I'm not moving until you answer my question." She stopped walking forward and crossed her arms, staying put in the corridor. She wanted answers. And food. The two officers glanced at each other, then the man stepped down the corridor and opened a door, waited by the portal for her to come down the hallway and peer into the room-

She looked inside, and there was Jean-Luc, standing at a small conference table.

_Her_ Jean-Luc.

* * *

When the door of the awkwardly small, stiflingly confined conference room slid open and no one entered, he frowned in confusion at the open portal but stood out of habit, staring at the empty entranceway. And then a woman had peered in-

"Beverly," he whispered, realizing how reverent he sounded, the familiar syllables slipping out of his mouth. His palms twitched and his mouth went dry as he drank in her form; she was clad in some long black dress in a matte material, and in flat shoes - she looked shorter, smaller somehow.

Beverly was here.


	9. Chapter 9

She thought that she had _managed_ her feelings, alone on the shuttle over those lonely hours, but seeing him in the room (_I was not expecting this_), hearing him whisper her name, it made her ears roar, and she barely noticed the words of the brass behind her, but Jean-Luc stood at the table, pulling out a chair for her to sit, piercing her with his gaze, and so she sat down, averting her eyes, because her emotions were all over the place.

As was her body's reaction to his proximity. But that was neither here nor there.

And the admirals sat down at the round table with the dark, regulation tabletop, and the four of them were all entirely too close together, and she could catch a bit of his familiar smell-

"We're from Section 31. There's a mission."

She blinked in surprise. And listened to the woman who began the report. A confidential mission, a mission where she and Jean-Luc were going to be sent to gather information, collect data, then speed out of there and bring the data back to Section 31. But she and Jean-Luc would be visible, in plain sight, with aliases, and they would be traveling undercover as a couple. A partnered couple.

A slightly manic laugh threatened to escape her lips as the woman droned on. Waltzing into a dangerous situation, tasked with espionage and theft? Not a problem. Sounded like a typical day on the Pasteur! Maintaining a fictional identity? She _loved_ theater! But spending days and days with Jean-Luc, pretending that they were a happily married couple? The mere thought sent a pit of dread into her stomach. How was she going to keep her experiences on the other Enterprise to herself? It was as though she had imprinted on the other Jean-Luc, and her body and heart were telling her that the man beside her was just as good, just as satisfying. (_don't think about it, the feel of his hands upon your body, how well the two of you fit together_)

And now they were going to spend days, possibly even _weeks_ together where in public he would be presenting as though he really did love her. She knew that he was a very good actor (she had always asked him to be in her productions, and he always demurred, but once he was on stage he claimed the space as if it was his own) and if he was presenting that way around her she was really truly going to start to believe it and to want to make it happen and that would only end in hopeless, hopeless heartbreak for her. And he would go back to the Enterprise, and she to the Pasteur, and it would be over, and she would be wrecked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she assessed him - he was perfectly, carefully still, motionless. He was normally reserved but still expressive, but in times of duress or extreme emotional anxiety he was very, very good at being icy cool.

_He hates the idea. Hates it. But he won't say no. And neither will I_. There wasn't anyone else in the Federation who had the experience, the knowledge, the two of them did. Together. And you didn't say no to Section 31 when they came to you.

Damn. Double damn. She swallowed but kept herself completely still when the report was finished. "Yes," she stated clearly, firmly, because really, what else was there to say but yes? And the Section 31 informants nodded with satisfied expressions, then they stood, leading the way to the door.

* * *

He was holding himself so still, because she was emanating waves of tension, the tells were there but probably not very visible to a stranger, but glaringly bright to someone (him) who knew her well. The press of her hands against the table, then folded within each other, the set of her shoulders, the line of her jaw.

How had he forgotten how lovely she was? He had been a fool all of these years.

He did not like giving himself up to Section 31 (_again_, but he preferred not to think about the few missions in his youth; those memories still kept him awake at night, sometimes) but they already had their sights on Beverly, and he wasn't going to leave her alone with them, and they wouldn't take him as a substitute, so here he was.

And by accepting he would be able to spend days, perhaps even weeks with Beverly. And perhaps he could make her smile again, because it looked as though it had been months since she had last smiled.

And perhaps he would be able to help her see that he loved her to the end of the universe.

"Yes." Beverly's clear voice broke his musing and he realized he had missed yet another aspect of what the Section 31 informants were telling them, and with nods, representatives stood, and he stood automatically.

"We're going now?" Picard's word's slipped out, and that was not what he intended to say, because he was willing, but this was so sudden -

"Yes." The admirals looked at him oddly - he was the one who had volunteered to go, so of course they would be confused at his sudden hesitation.

He nodded, covering. "Of course." And as Beverly stood he placed a hand on her lower back, because he wanted to.

* * *

Ushered to a transporter room, handed a large bag, nearly pushed up onto the platform by the admirals, she looked at Jean-Luc but he was expressionless, looking around. And then they were beamed - _wait, where are we going?_ \- shift and shift and shift and then solid. She blinked, wondering if they had been sent through multiple buffers. It wasn't dangerous to the human body but it wasn't ideal if someone were to do it over and over again...

The transporter platform was in the middle of a huge space, with hundreds of other platforms, and they were in a violet-pink room that opened up into green spaces, no entry ways or portals-

"Here we are." She turned towards his voice, and he looked more relaxed, and even more handsome in this mix of sunlight and relaxingly cool, artificial lighting, and he was looking at her with an open softness, and her stomach flipped.

_What have I gotten myself into?_


	10. Chapter 10

Beverly followed him out of the transport area and the sunlight was refreshing, pushing away her fatigue. She would need to rest soon, but the fresh air (the air was sweet, somehow, and she inhaled deeply) and the brisk walking revived her a bit. Once they broke free of the crowds and made it to a promenade, Picard slowed his pace and she slowed to match, her flat shoes making a soft sound on the paved ground. He seemed to know where they were going, and then he reached over and took her bag without a word, swinging it over his shoulder. At her glance of surprise, he just smiled warmly at her and took her hand in his, looking forward again, still smiling.

They were holding hands, and she didn't think that they had ever done that before. They had linked hands before, had used hands to express comfort, or never-spoken care for each other, but walking down a sunny street, strolling, holding hands? The feel of his palm was so familiar, strong, firm, and it felt right, but this was new. Tender.

She blinked suddenly, telling herself that the unexpected sting of tears was from the bright sunlight, and not from the conflicted swell of emotion cresting within. _Why is he doing this?_ The paved path curved into a bustling promenade, and she followed his gentle guidance as they emerged into a citywalk - there were shops and restaurants, and vendors everywhere-

Oh my god, it was a pleasure planet. Well, not _quite_ a pleasure planet like Orion (and goodness, did she remember Orion, even though it had been years and years ago - the pheremones alone were highly distracting the entire time she was planetside, and the looks from the women made her actually reconsider her preference for men, but it had to have been the atmosphere...that's what she told herself, anyway) but this was a vacation planet, designed for pairs (or triads, or groups - whatever worked) to spend quiet time together, and to grow...closer. As they walked down the main throughfaire, they passed a portal that - oh, my.

_Oh my._ There were couples (and a triad) inside, all humanoid, trying out...something. Laughing and enjoying themselves. She was no prude, but over the years she and Jean-Luc very carefully never discussed anything (anything) that approximated a relationship, intimate or otherwise, including with other people. She had even toned down the level of teasing that she used to subject him to early on in their tour on the Enterprise. At first she had told herself that it was because it embarrassed him, but over the previous year she admitted that her teasing was too much of a reflection of what she was wishing for herself. And now, she was turning away from the open doors, blushing.

Such a switch. She swallowed as, still silent, Jean-Luc slid his thumb across the back of her hand.

* * *

The check-in process was efficient, and they were directed up towards an upper floor. The pathways on the upper floors were outside, and the glitter of the city laid out across the valley below. The door to the apartment opened to their presence, and it was spotless inside - all white, gold and cream, with a kitchen area, couches, chairs, and panels that presumably led into a bedroom of some sort. Jean-Luc placed their bags by the door, then went towards the panels and opened them -

It was plush, and lush, and inviting, and she just wanted to throw herself onto that bed, because the sight of the pillows and the extra blankets made her want to curl up (_when did I last sleep?_) and block out the memories of the previous hours. But she didn't. Because he had turned around and was looking at her oddly. Tense, suddenly, and yet he was framed by the gigantic window that revealed a gorgeous mountain vista and two crescent moons in the sky. But he was standing there, in uniform, which was so strange for such a non-formal environment. He cleared his throat, shifted, and she saw that he looked exhausted, and yet the lines of his face reminded her of the holoimages of youthful Evangeline, their daughter from another universe. She blinked slowly, trying to clear her mind, refusing to acknowledge the confusing overlay of memories.

"I'll sleep on the couch, Beverly-"

"You'll do no such thing!" It slipped out of her mouth, shocking them both, but she crossed her arms, thankful for the distraction away from the memory of a daughter who didn't actually belong to her. "We're here to play a part," (and she watched an impercepible twitch slide across his face) "and we're adults - we can certainly share a bed. Which side would you prefer?" And she vividly remembered waking up in the other Jean-Luc's bed, surrounded by his scent, opening her eyes to see him sitting in the corner, watching her with that intimate, half-lidded stare. The suppressed desire slid through her, making her lose her train of thought.

As she watched him blink, then nod once, she wondered whether she should tell him that she knew which side of the bed he preferred.

"Jean-Luc, have you eaten recently?" He blinked again, and she knew he had not, and that she had given him a welcome distraction. "We should eat. You should change, and we should eat." And she pivoted and left the bedroom, tense, hungry, attempting to press it all down and failing miserably.

She just might be in love with him.

* * *

Their casual stroll was in the approaching dusk, surrounded by pairs and trios and groups contentedly walking into and out of portals. Restaurants, tables out in the open, a multitude of species everywhere. And Beverly by his side. She was stunning - somehow she had changed clothing while he was in the bedroom, and now she was wearing some peach silk dress and flat shoes and her hair was different - unbound, a bit less tamed as though she had raked her fingers through it. Merde, she was lovely, surveying the walkway, glancing into the restaurants and shops. She had been silent since they had left the lovely apartment.

Looking anywhere but at him.

His resolve hardened. This was probably his last chance. He had no idea what she was thinking - so few words exchanged since they had been reunited in the tiny conference room.

And he was a selfish, selfish man. When they had been on the Enterprise he had been patiently waiting, waiting for her to change her mind (the Kes Prytt conversation still stung, but he completely understood, and they had such an odd Starfleet relationship already, seeing as he had been her senior officer, but she could - and would - outrank him in terms of medical emergency or if he were under duress and she deemed him unfit to act as captain, so it had been an odd equilibrium...and then she had left to take the Pasteur.

...Merde. The year without her on board had been awful. He loved her. _Loved_ her. It was not a distant, hands-off kind of chivalrous love. He loved her. Wanted to possess her. Wanted to be with her. Logistics be damned - they needed to be together.

"Let's stop here?" She paused in front of an ivy covered doorway, still not meeting his eyes but peering inside the portal. He stepped beside her, and inside were small tables, and candles, and servers with bottles of wine, and enticing aromas came from inside. She continued, still not looking at him. "We can talk about...about the mission, and-"

She stopped, probably because he had placed his hand gently against the small of her back.

"Ah, and we should talk." She was quieter as she finished her sentence.

"I agree."


	11. Chapter 11

Who was this woman sitting across from him? She was making no attempt at small talk (they had always done well with the silences, but they were also so well matched with small talk and light conversation - their struggle was with the deeper, more intimate topics) and was simply sitting across from him, playing with the stem of her wineglass, staring off at some spot behind his shoulder. Her shoulders were bare and nearly pearlescent in the dim lighting, her hair trailing onto the bare skin, but she looked exhausted and worn. Not quite tense, but she wasn't content.

"Beverly?" Her gaze shifted over, met his, and her jaw tightened, and ah, _there_ it was - she was resolute about something, but also nervous, anxious, working very hard to remain still. The server brought a basket of something (bread, perhaps?) wrapped in a cloth, set it in the center of the dark, small table, disappeared.

_She's going to push me away. Again. And I won't let that happen. This is our last chance-_

"I need to tell you something," she quietly stated.

xxxxxxxx

She made herself begin to speak before he could say whatever he wanted to say, and she didn't stop until she was finished. She told him. All of it. Well. Not _all_ of it. Speaking through her now queasy stomach, feeling as though she was confessing a crime that could never be undone, she told him about the brig, and the capture (he blanched in front of her and she reached over on an impluse and took his hand that was on the table - "they didn't hurt me at all," she reassured him, and watched him slump in his chair, the relief naked on his face.) She told him about her rescue by _another_ Jean-Luc Picard who took her to his Enterprise. She told him about the daughter - no details, just a fact interjected into her narrative, even though she could see in her mind's eye the dark hair, distinct nose, blue eyes that matched hers. And she told him that the other Jean-Luc gave her a shuttle and sent her home.

He sat motionless, then looked down at his empty plate in front of him. She didn't move her hand. _What is he thinking? Have I ruined our friendship? Is this too much for him-_

"I'm jealous of that man." She looked up at the growling edge in his voice and saw the fire in his eyes. He slid his gaze across her décolletage and she blushed. He had never looked at her so blatantly before, and she simply didn't know how to even process it. It certainly wasn't unwelcome, but it was new. Very new.

"I wasn't intimate with him," she blurted, then blushed. Good lord, she never meant to say anything about _that_.

A slide of relief across his face. Then primal male satisfaction.

"Did you want to be intimate with him." It was a statement and most certainly not a question.

"It was hard to stop after-" Damn. She didn't mean to respond without thinking, with such blatant honesty. She snapped her mouth shut, looking away - she didn't intend to open up that conundrum. She was grateful for the server who refilled their glasses, giving her a moment to regroup.

"He kissed you." Her eyes snapped up at his words, and he was frozen, staring at her with hurt in his eyes. "That should have been me."

She swallowed and pulled her hand back, conflicted. "But I'd rather be with you," she whispered. "That's why I stopped." _Oh hell. Apparently I have lost the ability to censor my words. _

Cxxx

Rapid-fire thoughts sliding through his mind - she had been captured (the thought threw him back into the moments on the Enterprise when she had been hurt, or even worse, simply gone, gone gone, leaving a hollow sliced out of his soul, when he didn't know if she was safe, and now she was calmly (too calmly) explaining that she had been captured, confined. The unexpected touch of her hand upon his steadied him, brought him back to the present, the here and now where she was sitting across from him, the air shifting around them with sweetness from the trees outside the quaint little restaurant, and she was alive and well.

But there had been another man. _Him_. Well, no, not _him_ but a parallel version, but there was a daughter? His counterpart had been married to a Beverly Crusher? And his counterpart had sent her home.

Just like that.

No, too tidy, too careful. He had read her reports over the years and he knew damn well that she was leaving out quite a bit about her experience in the other universe. And that other Jean-Luc had been with a Beverly, had loved her, had had a daughter with her-

Red hot flare of jealousy. "I'm jealous of that man." And she startled, wide eyes, actually leaned back from him, then her response was obviously completely involuntary:

"I wasn't intimate with him," a denial, reflexive, as though she knew that he had this claim on her, and she was blushing fiercely, embarassed, but still meeting his eyes.

"Did you want to be intmiate with him." The asking hurt him, but he _needed_ to know. The jealousy was clawing, climbing, suffocating.

"It was hard to stop after-" She shut off the tumble of words with a firm jaw, but he was darkly gratified that she was seemingly unable to censor herself -and that she was revealing her mutual attraction.

_That's it. This needs to happen. She needs to be mine._ And he wasn't proud of it, but he had made his decision. Every skill he possessed would go towards making her his own. He watched as she looked down at the table, carefully observing the server who was refilling their water glasses.

"He kissed you," he stated quietly when they were alone once more, and she met his gaze, and something in her expression softened - he realized that he was also laid bare in front of her. "That should have been me." There. His own confession. It was true.

She swallowed, shuttered expression, and her own response was so quiet he could barely hear it. "But I'd rather be with you," she whispered. "That's why I stopped."


	12. Chapter 12

A roaring in her ears at her confession. _That's why I stopped._ For all of these years she had hid behind her biting wit, or simply retreated whenever they stepped into dangerous territory. Overwhelmed, and yet she was calm. She swallowed, reached for her wine again, stopped herself. She wanted a clear head.

She watched him as he searched her expression, looking for something, perhaps. That she was telling the truth? She had always been honest with him over the years, except about the depth of her feelings for him, because that was dangerous. But now she saw this other path, and she realized that her terror, her dread of losing him completely had confined her into lying to herself all of these years.

He blinked, then softened as if he had come to some conclusion, smiled softly at her. "Beverly, eat. Don't let your food grow cold." _As if any cuisine in this century was at risk of being ruined._ It could simply be replicated again, or reheated, or any number of things. But he was redirecting. Or something. But she obediently looked down and began to eat.

* * *

_She belongs to me._ Ownership. It was undeniable. And there was no going back. As she ate he felt a sense of possession, explicit care for her - the desire to protect.

But hadn't he protected her and watched over her all of these years? He watched her chew, noticed again how thin she was at the moment (she had been captured - it _horrified_ him, pushed bile into his throat, brought back ghosts of memories from the Cardassians, when he thought that they had "the human female") and how tired she looked, and he knew he needed to care for her.

"I cannot live without you, Beverly." Her eyes snapped up, fork in midair, that wild edge around her eyes again, but he continued. "We'll figure out the details later. But for now, you need to know that I love you. And I won't leave again."

She smiled, looked relieved. Set her fork down. "I'm finished. But you haven't eaten." And he suppressed a smile and obediently began to eat. He would do anything for her.

* * *

The walk back was silent, and he held her hand. And she was exhausted, and lightheaded in the cool night air, but she was not disassociated - she was present, and just staying in the moment. She didn't know what would be next and as they entered into the palatial complex, took the stairs up, she felt herself tensing up.

She entered first, and he followed and set the privacy lock. She turned around and surprised him, pressing her hands against his chest, pushing him against the wall. He stayed there in place, frozen, then lifted his hands to cover hers.

"What are you doing, Beverly?" It was a wondrous whisper, cautious, restrained, and she waited for a moment, feeling how still he was beneath her hands, but his fingers slid slightly across her hands, like he couldn't stop the movement.

"I don't know..." And she _didn't_ know, all she wanted was to be closer to him, to, to..._something_. She sucked in a breath, heard the hitch, the catch from the tension, completely distracted by his closeness, the closeness _she _initiated when she pushed him against the wall - she had not thought this through very well-

"You're skittish, Beverly." Quiet, assured.

"I'm not." The response was reflexive, defensive, her voice sharp to her own ears-

"Yes, you _are_."

She blinked in surprise - his tone was light, almost a laugh, the edges of his eyes crinkling in amusement. She swallowed. "I suppose...perhaps I am. But...what if this doesn't work?" _Oh, so now you worry? After you push him against a wall and have your hands pressed against his chest?_

"This will work. We're not going to lose our friendship, our years together." Serious now, but through his steady gaze he was still smiling at her, distracting her with his closeness-

"How do we make the leap, Jean-Luc?" The words slipping out; she was losing control but she didn't know if she should step away or lean in and embrace the oblivion that would come if she kissed him-

"We just-" he cut himself off, closed his eyes, and his fingers stopped their distracting little motions on her hands. With his eyes still closed, he began again. "We just need to _try_. I love you, Beverly. And I want to be with you. Fully."

"I'm scared, Jean-Luc. What if we can't stop?" she blurted, then felt herself begin to blush. Here she was, centimeters from him, hands on his chest, and she was choosing this moment to confess her worst fear-

He snorted in a burst of laughter that was quickly contained, opened his eyes again, searching out her gaze, laughter in his voice. "Beverly, then we simply don't leave these quarters for a week." He was still, very still, but his face was flushed and he...he looked as though he needed something. Needed her.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, and before she could let herself think about it any longer she leaned forward and kissed him.


End file.
